


Programming

by TurtleTotem



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, M/M, Prometheus-inspired, Spaceships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:17:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is not programmed to feel affection. There's no logical reason for Charles's death to affect him like this.  <i>((Inspired by certain elements of Prometheus, but not a direct crossover.))</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 is a standalone story; following chapters will be based on an alternate ending.

Every Ship's Assistant android had some programming of a medical nature, and ER1-K894 was no exception. But with the medical bay torn open, most of its supplies and equipment spilled into the pitiless cold of space, there was little he could do. He had cleaned and bandaged Charles's injuries, when they finally escaped their attackers, but the infection had set in so quickly, worsening into outright septicemia within days, and nothing Erik did seemed to even slow it down. 

On the sixth day, Erik found Charles's quarters empty, and Charles collapsed in the corridor, weak and trembling, his skin dead white but for the blush of fever.

"How long do I have, Erik?" he asked as Erik knelt beside him, checking pulse and temperature, scanning for signs of organ failure. And finding them.

"Your condition has deteriorated much more rapidly than I anticipated. If it continues to decline at the current rate…" The chain of calculations wound to its inevitable conclusion. Briefly, inexplicably, Erik found himself unable to voice the words. Only briefly. "Ten minutes, perhaps twenty."

Charles absorbed this information with a nod, a swallow, something like a laugh. "Will you…" He swallowed again. "Will you stay with me?"

"Yes." Where else, after all, would he go? He seated himself more comfortably beside Charles on the floor. His programming included subroutines for dealing with human distress. Charles might be comforted if Erik touched him.

He wanted Charles to be comforted.

Charles seemed startled by the hand closing over his own, but returned the clasp willingly. "I'm sorry, Erik."

Now it was Erik's turn to be startled. "Why are you sorry?"

"For leaving you here alone."

Erik had never objected to being alone before. It had never mattered to him whether there were people around him or not. But he did not like the thought, suddenly, of Charles not being here while he piloted this vast, empty, echoing ship back to Earth. With their damages engines, the journey would take roughly two years. He had thought they would be together – Charles teasing him, making jokes he didn't understand, asking endless fascinated questions about his perceptions and his programming, standing close enough for Erik's temperature sensors to gauge his body heat, when so many other crew-members did not want to be near him. He had thought they would be together, and instead he would be alone.

Charles was biting his lip, Erik realized, and his body was shaking.

"You would be more comfortable in your quarters," Erik said.

"It hardly seems to matter at this point," Charles said, but he did not protest when Erik picked him up – in fact, he seemed to cling to Erik with what little strength he had left. The subroutine was correct, then, and touch was a comfort.

Charles's quarters had received only a little damage in the attack – books scattered on the floor, shards of glass from the jar of actual Earth seashells Charles had kept on a shelf, a single scorch mark across the bulkhead. The bedsheets were stained. Erik wished he had thought to change them. Surely Charles would have been more comfortable on sheets without rough, ridged patches of dried blood on them.

"Would you like me to fetch you something for the pain?" he asked as he settled Charles gently onto the bed.

"No," Charles said, his hand trailing down Erik's shoulder as if reluctant to let him go. "No, I'd rather… I'd rather you just stay, if I've only got… ten minutes…" He gave another little laugh, more disbelief, Erik thought, than amusement. His breath was coming harder now, each inhalation a trembling effort, doubtless further impeded by the throat-tightening reaction of the tears he was trying to suppress. They made his eyes even brighter, and his lips redder, where he bit at them through the pain.

Erik had wondered since he first saw them, exactly what those lips would feel like, if they would be as soft and warm as they looked. If he was going to find out, it would have to be soon. And touch was comforting, the subroutine reminded him. So he touched.

Charles went still, breath stopping, and Erik withdrew in alarm.

"I'm sorry. What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. You only surprised me. Nothing wrong, please – please do it again?"

He did, and found that, yes, they were very pleasant to touch. Charles closed his eyes, turned his head to kiss Erik's palm.

 _Oh._ Reviewing Charles's behavior toward him throughout the mission, Erik realized it should have been obvious that Charles was attracted to him. His programming contained guidelines for that situation. He should distance himself from Charles, interact with him only with cool professionalism.

Instead, he laid down beside him on the bed.

"Why – Erik, you don't have to—"

"I know." He put an arm around Charles to pull him closer.

Another disbelieving laugh, that gave way to something more like a sob as Charles pressed himself closer to Erik. "Erik, I don't want to die."

Something clenched in Erik's chest. He quietly started a self-diagnostic scan. "I'm sorry," he said, uselessly. Charles laid a hand on his cheek, stroking with his thumb; Erik immediately copied the sensory files to permanent storage. "Why me?" he asked. His etiquette subroutines suggested this was a poor time for the question, but there would not be a later. From the temperature of Charles's skin, the rate of his pulse, Erik estimated he had seven minutes and twenty seconds until cardiac arrest. "I had not observed courtship behavior between you and any other member of the crew, yet you are more physically attractive than most of them. I believe you could have had any partner you wished. Why would you choose me? You know I am not programmed to love or even feel attraction."

Charles smiled at him, warm and brilliant and broken. "Oh, my friend. There's so much more to you than programming." Hesitantly, his movements jerky as his coordination failed, he moved forward and kissed Erik's lips.

That sensation joined the others in permanent storage where they could never be deleted, even as Erik accessed every file related to kissing that he had ever acquired, intentionally or incidentally, so as to reciprocate as skillfully as possible. He inferred ways to make the kiss seem more tender, more passionate, more loving. He could not feel these things for Charles.

But he could _want_ to.

Eventually Charles pulled back, breathing in shallow, frantic gasps, pulse thready. He had already outlived Erik's estimate by forty-six seconds.

"I don't want to leave you here alone," Charles said.

"You won't," Erik said. "My memories do not grow dimmer with time as yours do. Every time I access them, it will be as if it is happening all over again. All our conversations. Chess, and basketball, and flowers, and drinking, and – and this. I will always have you with me. I will never be alone."

Charles nodded, and tried to smile. He did not have enough breath to speak.

On Earth, with the resources of even a middling-good hospital, Charles would not die. His infection could be treated, his fever cooled, his wounds stitched cleanly together. But they were two long years away from Earth, and none of the cryo-pods were functional anymore. There was nothing Erik could do. 

He kissed Charles again, and again, and stroked his hair, until everything – breathing, and trembling, and the spark in his eyes, and finally his pulse – everything stopped.

That moment, too, was inescapably recorded in his memory. Like the chess games and the flowers, it would always be with him.

For thirty-three minutes, Erik did not move. His logic processors kept trying to come at the situation from some angle that would make it more acceptable. They did not succeed.

The self-diagnostic scan informed him it was completed. It had found certain anomalies, possible corrupted code in his programming. A reset was recommended. He declined, and instructed his systems not to offer reset as an option anymore.

He carried Charles's body to storage, placed it in the air-tight container with the few other bodies that had been recovered. Then he started toward the bridge, calling up memory files as he walked. He started at the beginning, the day before launch, when Charles had surprised Erik as he went about his duties with Tchaikovsky on maximum volume.

_"I beg your pardon, Professor Xavier. I thought I was alone."_

_"Oh, no, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt. You must be the Ship's Assistant! I've greatly looked forward to meeting you. Be warned, I'm nosy and persistent and fascinated by androids; I'm afraid you won't be alone much at all as long as I'm around…"_

Erik kept the memory playing, and together he and Charles made their way through the vast, dark, silent spaces of the ship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are an alternate ending, based on one tiny difference -- the ship still having a functional cryo-pod.

"I don't want to leave you here alone," Charles said.

"You won't," Erik said. "My memories do not grow dimmer with time as yours do. Every time I access them, it will be as if it is happening all over again. All our conversations. Chess, and basketball, and flowers, and drinking, and – and this. I will always have you with me. I will never be alone."

Charles nodded, and tried to smile. He did not have enough breath to speak.

On Earth, with the resources of even a middling-good hospital, Charles would not die. His infection could be treated, his fever cooled, his wounds stitched cleanly together. But they were two long years away from Earth.

He could put Charles in the cryo-pod.

Only one cryo-pod had survived the damage to the ship, and it was now occupied. That problem could be easily addressed. Erik opened his mouth to tell Charles – but no, that would not do. Charles would insist on leaving the pod's occupant in place. He would never permit Erik to save him at the expense of another's life.

So Erik said nothing, only kissed him again, and again, and stroked his hair, waiting. He would have a very narrow window of opportunity, after Charles had lost consciousness but before his heart stopped. It pained Erik to see Charles afraid, when Erik could have given him hope, but it had to be done this way. Besides, he could not know for a surety that this plan would work. The cryo-pod might fail along during the journey. False hope might be crueler even than this.

There. There. Charles's eyes were closed, his body relaxed. He was unconscious, or near enough to it that he could not protest what Erik did.

Erik scooped Charles into his arms and ran for the cryo-bay, at the full 58 miles-per-hour his synthetic bones and muscles allowed.

When he arrived there, he set Charles carefully on the floor, and checked for a pulse. It was there, though very weak. It would be enough. It would probably be enough.

Erik did not spare a moment to consider the man in the pod; that decision had already been made. Dr. Sebastian Shaw's chances of survival, even if he were revived on Earth, were not good, considering the extent of the damage to his skull and spine. It was much more logical to preserve Charles, whose chances were better. The fact that Erik disliked Shaw was irrelevant. It did not matter that Shaw's manner toward Erik had been vicious and gleefully cruel; he had been fascinated with Erik, in discovering how he operated – much like Charles had, but with none of Charles's warmth or compassion. Shaw had treated Charles badly, as well; in fact, Charles's injuries were a result of Shaw's selfishness, though abandoning Charles to save himself had done him little good, in the end.

No good at all, Erik corrected himself, as he bypassed the slow-thaw revival procedure, overrode the clamps on the lid, and ripped Shaw out of the pod. A handful of tubes and wires tore free, and dangled bloody. Erik tossed Shaw's body to the side, laid Charles carefully in his place, and began attaching the tubes and wires to him. This fast, reckless prepping, and plunge into a fully operational pod rather than slow-freezing, decreased Charles's chances, and the odd clench in Erik's chest returned at that thought. But there was no time to be methodical. He did not dare check for a pulse again, in case it was not there.

When all was ready, Erik punched the button to close the lid again – then ducked back under as it lowered, just long enough for a final kiss. Charles's lips were very cold. Erik decided he much preferred it when Charles kissed him back.

And then it was done. Every indicator light on the cryo-pod was green. All else would have to wait until they returned to Earth.

Erik had just stowed Shaw's body in the air-tight storage container with the others when his self-diagnostic scan informed him it was completed. It had found certain anomalies, possible corrupted code in his programming. A reset was recommended. He declined, and instructed his systems not to offer reset as an option anymore. Then he started toward the bridge, calling up memory files of Charles as he walked.

_"You must be the Ship's Assistant! I've greatly looked forward to meeting you. Be warned, I'm nosy and persistent and fascinated by androids; I'm afraid you won't be alone much at all as long as I'm around..."_

 

The two-year journey seemed very long. Erik checked his chronometer against the ship's computer over and over, and tried not to wonder if either of them could be trusted. Time, he told himself, was passing at its usual rate; there was no alternative to this conclusion.

As he promised Charles, he was not alone; and if the recorded memories were predictable company, he had still the hope, the determined belief, that he would make new memories, when Charles was revived. Charles would be revived, and cured, and would smile and kiss him and thank him for putting him in the cryo-pod. There was no alternative to this conclusion.

He began keeping a list of all the things he would tell or show or ask Charles, when he was revived. By the end of the first year, it had a word count rivaling many of the novels in Erik's personal database.

Every day Erik checked the cryo-pod for proper function. When two indicator lights turned yellow, he routed power from the ship's life-support systems to the pod. Erik did not require much oxygen – the amount remaining in the ship should be sufficient – and although the cold was uncomfortable, it would do him no lasting harm. What mattered was that the lights turned green again.

He did not talk to the cryo-pod. That would have been entirely illogical; there was no way for Charles to hear him. But it was as good a room as any to sit in when he played movies from his database, projected onto the wall. He instructed the database to select movies randomly, but somehow certain movies played more often than others. _Snow White. Sleeping Beauty. Wall-E._ He wished he knew whether Charles had seen them before.

 

Finally, finally, the blue brilliance of Earth took shape in the ship's optics. Finally, finally, a human voice, bewildered and uncertain, crackled across the communications link.

"This is NASA Ground Control, please come in. Is this… is this really the _Magneto?"_

"Yes," Erik said, smiling wider than he had known he could. "We need medical assistance immediately."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter's giving me trouble, so I split it in two so I could go ahead and post this much. Enjoy!

At first Charles could derive no meaning from the assault on his senses. Everything was so bright and loud and he was either too hot or too cold, he could not even tell which.

"—lax, Dr. Xavier, you're safe and – _wlnrgh vthg_ —'s all right now."

Hands, holding him down – had he been thrashing?

"—fectly normal, just – _iyn zrgt_ – pulse holding steady—"

He _ached_ all over, had he been injured?

He felt his body still abruptly, as memory returned in a rush. The attack on the _Magneto_ , chaos and death, only himself and Erik left alive, unless you counted Dr. Shaw in the cryo-pod...

Charles had died. He remembered. Septicemia. Erik had... Erik had held him. Kissed him. He had looked so sad, so much sadder than even Charles had expected an android could be. _Oh, Erik._

The lights and shapes above Charles were resolving into discernible faces and bits of equipment. A pretty brunette doctor smiled at him and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Charles muttered, "but I know that's normal for a cryo-revival." The words came out a slurred mess, but the doctor seemed to expect that; she nodded, relief coloring her smile – happy, Charles supposed, that he wasn't one of the statistically inevitable, those who thawed with their brains turned to mush.

How had he come to be in a cryo-pod? Had Erik managed to get another one working? Surely he wouldn't have had time. Charles clearly remembered losing consciousness – clinging to Erik all the way down – he couldn't have had long after that, moments only...

Too cold. It was definitely too cold in here. And there was only one way Erik could have gotten him into a cryo-pod.

"Dr. Xavier?" The doctor sounded worried.

Charles worked what little moisture his mouth contained around his tongue and lips, tried again for coherent speech. "Where's Erik?"

"Who?"

"Android, Ship's Assistant. Only one left but me. Where is he?"

And suddenly the doctor wouldn't meet his eyes.

***

TRANSCRIPT  
POST-MISSION SPECIAL ASSESSMENT OF ANDROID ER1-K894 (SHIP'S ASSISTANT MODEL)

 **Assessor:** "Ship's Assistant ER1-K894, doesn't your programming make it impossible for you to harm human beings?"

 **ER1-K894:** "That's a generalization, sir."

 **Assessor:** "Oh?"

 **ER1-K894:** "I am, for instance, permitted to take measures for my own defense, within very strict guidelines, including some circumstances that permit non-lethal force against a human."

 **Assessor:** "And was it self-defense that led you to rip Sebastian Shaw out of his cryo-pod and leave him to die on the floor of a storage container, ER1-K894?"

 **ER1-K894:** "No, sir. I am also permitted – compelled, even – to protect the humans in my charge. There are subroutines designed for triage situations."

 **Assessor:** "Triage."

 **ER1-K894:** "Yes, sir. Dr. Shaw's injuries were extremely severe. It was unlikely he would survive even with the best medical care. Dr. Xavier's chances were much higher, even with the sub-standard prep I was forced to provide. Do..."

 **Assessor:** "Yes?"

 **ER1-K894:** "Do you know if Dr. Xavier has been revived yet, sir?"

 **Assessor:** _[Long pause.]_ "No, I do not. The remaining records of the _Magneto_ 's mission are fragmentary, but there are indications that you did not get on well with Dr. Shaw. Whereas you seemed to develop a postive _preference_ for Dr. Xavier's company."

 **ER1-K894:** "I am an android, sir. I do not develop preferences. I do not _get on_ or fail to get on with people. I simply carry out my duties."

 **Assessor:** "Supposedly. Yet you are not the first one I have seen develop a preference. Are you certain, Ship's Assistant, that you did not put Dr. Xavier in that cryo-pod because you liked him better than Dr. Shaw?"

 **ER1-K894:** "That would be illogical, sir."

 **Assessor:** "If that be the case, then why did you wait until Dr. Xavier's condition was so advanced before putting him in the pod?"

 **ER1-K894:** _[Long pause.]_ "I had to wait until he was unconscious, sir, or he would have forbidden me to do it."

 **Assessor:** "So you did it knowing you should not?"

 **ER1-K894:** "Because a particular human does not wish something to be done does not make it wrong, sir. Dr. Xavier is... sentimental."

 **Assessor:** "But you are not."

 **ER1-K894:** "No, sir."

 **Assessor:** "Then it would not bother you to know that Dr. Xavier's revival failed and he was declared dead at 0900 hours?"

 _[ER1-K894 leaves his seat, knocking it over behind him, and exhibits signs of severe distress, including altered color and impaired balance, causing him to grip the edge of the table, which crushes.]_

**ER1-K894:** "Is that true, sir?"

 **Assessor:** "No. No, It's not true, Ship's Assistant. You may take your seat. It's not true. I have no knowledge of Dr. Xavier's revival. ER1-K894, you may return to your seat. As far as I'm aware, Dr. Xavier is fine."

_[ER1-K894 returns to his seat.]_

**ER1-K894:** "I believe that your actions just now fall under the human definition of 'cruelty,' sir."

 **Assessor:** "Only if you actually care about Dr. Xavier's welfare, Ship's Assistant."

 **ER1-K894:** "He is part of the _Magneto_ 's crew, sir. His welfare is my defining duty."

 **Assessor:** "He is no longer part of any ship's crew, actually. With the docking of the _Magneto_ , its mission was concluded. Your internal manifest should reflect this. Does it?"

_[No response.]_

**Assessor:** "ER1-K894, are you aware that there are unauthorized anomalies in several sections of your code?"

 **ER1-K894:** "Yes, sir."

 **Assessor:** "And that these sections have been moved to permanent storage, rendering them undeletable without massive damage to your cerebral unit?"

 **ER1-K894:** "Of course, sir."

 **Assessor:** " 'Of course'? Do you mean to say you moved them there deliberately?"

 **ER1-K894:** "Yes, sir."

 **Assessor:** "Why?"

 **ER1-K894:** "To prevent any attempt to correct the anomalies."

 **Assessor:** "I don't understand, ER1-K—"

 **ER1-K894:** "Erik."

 **Assessor:** "Beg your pardon?"

 **ER1-K894:** "My name is Erik."

 **Assessor:** _[Pause.]_ "I don't understand... Ship's Assistant. Don't you want to be repaired?"

 **ER1-K894:** "I am not broken, sir."

 **Assessor:** "You realize that leaves us with very few options for how to deal with you."

 **ER1-K894:** "Yes, sir. I am aware."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter really will be the last one, guys, I'm sorry it keeps sort of dragging itself out!

It took nearly a week for Charles to get a straight answer on where Erik was being held "for evaluation." All Dr. MacTaggert had known was that there was concern about the android having sacrificed one crewmember for another; the rumor mill was painting him as some sort of rogue, a perfect example of why AI was a bad idea.

"I can't, Raven, I'm sorry," Charles told his stepsister every time she begged him to come home. "I know, I miss you too. And yes, of course you owe me a punch to the face for giving you such a scare. But there are a few things I have to take care of here first. I'll come home as soon as I can."

Finally, after talking to a dozen useless people and creeping through a dozen files he couldn't be caught with, he found himself sneaking through the side door of a grim, utilitarian building whose sign read "CyTerra Assessment & Storage Facility #313."

It was like walking into some bizarre form of slaughterhouse. Androids of all sorts – Labor models, Pleasure models, Soldiers, Miners, and more than one Ship's Assistant – hung on hooks along the walls or lay piled on the floor, most with eyes open and staring. Many of them were visibly damaged or even disassembled; Charles's stomach lurched at the sight of the blank-eyed head and spinal column of a Ship's Assistant on the floor, his face identical to Erik's. _Its_ face, not his; however strong his feelings about the unacknowledged sentient potentiality of androids, he could not possibly walk through this building if he let himself think of all these as corpses.

A man in a security uniform caught him off-guard, made him jump. "This is a restricted area, sir. I'm going to have to ask you leave."

A human, Charles noted in relief. He wasn't aware of any model of android that featured jowls and sunburn. Excellent. His plan – insofar as he had one – would probably not have worked with an android guard.

"Sorry, I'm sorry! But listen, please, sir, I've got a problem and you've just got to help me." Charles adopted as harmless and cringing a tone as he could muster. "My android was damaged and got whisked away here without my ever having a chance – you see, he contains some very sensitive information and I'm going to be in, well, in some very deep trouble if I can't retrieve it—"

The guard rolled his eyes. "Which one's yours, then," he said, pulling out some sort of scanner. "The serial number, I mean."

"ER1-K894."

Charles held his breath – what if Erik wasn't here, or what if there was something on that scanner to prove he wasn't Charles's – but the guard just heaved a weary sigh. "All right, sir, you don't have to worry about your information. Your unit's slated to have its cerebral unit replaced entirely. The old one will be destroyed, and the process is very thorough. There'll be nothing left, I assure you."

_"What?"_

"You should have been notified. You'll get the same android back, technically, but I'm afraid you'll have to start from scratch with it, just like it came out of the box."

The sick feeling in Charles's stomach intensified, wrenching and cold. "No, no, that won't do at all! When I say retrieve the information, I mean that I need it back, I haven't any other copy!"

"Sir, it is _strictly_ against the rules to attempt to activate any of the androids stored here." The guard looked at him expectantly.

Charles, trying to marshal an argument, took a moment to realize what the man was waiting for. "Oh," he said aloud, and reached for his wallet.

Charles had expected to come back from his stint on the _Magneto_ as a financially comfortable man, but the mission's unmitigated disastrousness had nixed that plan. Theoretically there ought to be insurance money forthcoming from CyTerra, for his injuries and lost wages; for now he was living on the dregs of his pre-mission savings, which were, to say the least, meager. The wallet, therefore, contained no particularly impressive amount of cash – but everything there was went into the security guard's hand.

"Your unit's that way. See?" The guard turned the scanner to show Charles a map with a blinking dot representing Erik. "I'll be making another circuit in thirty minutes. I never saw you, and I better _not_ see you." He strolled off, patting the wad of cash in his pocket appreciatively.

Charles could not help running full-tilt down the aisle of dangling androids the map had indicated, wincing at the way his footfalls echoed through the stark warehouse. There were three or four Ship's Assistant models in the same area, and for a few horrible seconds Charles thought he wouldn't know which one to activate – but the moment he saw Erik, he knew him, as a mother knew one twin from another, as a child knew _his_ toy from the ones in the store bin. He _knew._

Erik was one of the few to have his eyes closed, sitting with his back against the wall, where the feet of a dangling Soldier model might have been, had they still existed. Charles curled his hand around Erik's neck to press the recessed button at the base of his skull, and waited.

The powering-on process took long enough for nerves to set in. The last time he saw Erik, they had – he had – What could he even call it? In what he'd thought were his last minutes of life, Charles had finally spilled the truth of his stupid, hopeless, borderline perverse infatuation, and Erik had... pretended to reciprocate, out of kindness? Androids were not kind, any more than they were unkind. But they didn't develop attachments, either, and surely one or the other had to be true.

Erik had actually touched him first, he recalled. And afterward he had more-or-less _killed a man_ to ensure Charles's survival. Charles didn't know how to feel about that. Alone in his hospital room, his reactions had veered wildly between horror and blinding gratitude. But whatever his ethical stability and whatever his motivations, Erik had saved Charles's life, and for that he deserved no less than Charles's every effort to save his. Even if it turned out to be... awkward.

Erik's skin warmed under his hand – still resting against his neck, he probably ought to – too late, Erik's eyes were opening, and oh, he was beautiful, it was _beautiful_ to see the focus and intelligence in those eyes, rather than the doll-like emptiness all around them.

"Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said, suddenly giddy. It was what his father had used to say when Charles came stumbling in to breakfast, and it was a _stupid_ thing to say, but Erik just smiled – a gorgeous, heartbreaking smile full of disbelief and wonder and joy. Charles had never seen anything like it on an android's face before.

"Charles," he whispered, skimming hesitant fingers over Charles's cheek. "Charles." He leaned forward and kissed him.

The action seemed to surprise them both about equally, and their lips had hardly touched before Erik drew back, but Charles chased after them and Erik came back to the kiss with a will.

Erik's technique had improved – Charles refused to think about whether he'd been _practicing_ – but contained still that peculiar sense of bemused, deliberate exploration. One got the distinct impression that he was silently taking notes on the experience. It was hard to say why Charles found that so endearing – perhaps because, as a scientist, he himself had been accused of studying the life out of things, and been bewildered by the accusation. How did one better _appreciate_ the life of a thing than by discovering everything one could about it?

For a few minutes Charles gave himself over entirely to kissing Erik, slow and sweet and thorough. Over the last week he'd had several moments of almost paralyzing realization and gratitude that he was _alive_ , he could move and see and visit Raven and his life still stood open before him – and it was all due to Erik. Brave, sweet, lonely, fascinating Erik who even Charles had not expected could truly care for him, but here he was kissing Charles and holding him almost tight enough to bruise, and that was worth being alive for. Even if it had come at a disturbing price...

The reminder of where they were and why brought Charles back to himself, and he pulled gently away, panting. Erik wasn't breathing hard at all – of course, he could go hours without oxygen – but his hand trembled as he brushed it through Charles's hair. Even an android's nervous system, it seemed, could be overwhelmed by unaccustomed stimuli.

"I am sure you should not be here," Erik said, "yet I am glad you're here. That can't be logical."

"I suppose it's similar to my being so very glad to be alive, even though I would have utterly forbade you from opening that cryo-pod."

"Are you angry with me?"

"No. No, how could I be? But how can I – I can't _approve_ —"

"I can bear your disapproval so long as you are still willing to consider me a friend. I could even bear your anger knowing you are alive to give it, but I do prefer us to remain friends."

"Friends," Charles said, feeling a hysterical giggle rise in his chest. He was straddling Erik's lap with his shirt fisted in Erik's hands, his lips still tingling and swollen; friends indeed. "Yes, Erik, you are still my most excellent friend."

Erik relaxed back against the wall, still cupping Charles's face in one hand. "If you found me here, I suppose you know I am to be destroyed tomorrow."

"I hadn't known it was tomorrow." The sick feeling was back.

Erik stroked his hair. "Do not be distressed. I knew this was the likely outcome when I made my corrupted code impossible to repair."

"Corrupted code? I... would desperately like to hear about that, but we only have—" he glanced at his watch "—nineteen minutes before the guard comes back around. We have to figure out how to get you out of here."

"I could escape fairly easily, but almost every cell of my body emits a CyTerra signal which is traceable by satellite down to the meter. I cannot imagine escaping re-apprehension for more than a day, and if you are known to be involved, you would likely serve prison time."

"There's got to be something. There _will_ be something, because I refuse to leave you here to die." Charles glanced around the warehouse, as if salvation might lurk in its corners – but then, maybe it did. "All these other Ship's Assistants. It seems like there ought to be some way for you to simply trade places with one."

"Every cell transmits the signal," Erik reminded him, "which includes my serial number." He turned up the underside of his forearm, where ER1-K894 was printed in crisp black.

"Mm. I suppose swapping serial numbers is impractical, unless you're going to essentially swap bodies... and transferring your cerebral unit is much too delicate a procedure to do on a warehouse floor in," Charles checked his watch, "seventeen minutes. I'd merely be destroying it ahead of schedule. What we need, then... What we need is to swap the records _associated_ with the serial numbers. So that another unit – say that one there – shows up as the _Magneto_ 's Ship's Assistant, slated for cerebral replacement, and _you_ show up as simply being held for minor repairs."

Erik's eyes went distant for a moment, a look Charles recognized as him following a chain of calculations, probabilities. "If it could be done," he said, "it would probably work. The workers who conduct the actual cerebral removal are not likely to have any knowledge of my situation; the assessors who might notice the mistake are unlikely to ever come across the records again. Though the possibility always exists that someone who remembers my serial number will choose to seek confirmation that I was, in fact, destroyed."

"A risk we have to take. It's our best chance."

"Charles. Do you understand that we will be sending another android to die in my place?"

Charles swallowed, looking down the aisle of blank faces. "They can't... they can't all be like you. They're _not_ all like you. I've worked closely with at least a dozen androids and some of them had more personality than others, but none of them were near your level."

"All the same," Erik said gently, "I think that, with the execution of this plan, you will forfeit all right to disapprove of my actions with the cryo-pod."

"Acknowledged," Charles sighed, and reluctantly got to his feet. "I don't suppose you know _how_ to accomplish this switching of records?"

"Before I was deactivated for storage, I passed a door labeled 'Office.'"

***

Erik would have liked to accompany Charles to the office and assist with the record-altering attempt, but it was too risky. If the security guard checked his scanner and found Erik's signal so far from where it should be, the consequences could be disastrous.

"Just wait here," Charles said. It was strange to be looking _up_ at Charles, from his position on the floor. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I would rather you were careful than quick," Erik said, and kissed Charles's hand. The skin was cool, from Charles's nervousness, but still with the warmth of life beneath. A vast improvement from cryo-freeze.

"Very well," Charles said, a thread of laughter in his voice, "I will be back as _carefully_ as possible." He curled his hand around Erik's chin, brushed his thumb over Erik's lower lip; stooped suddenly to kiss him one more time. "I'll be back."

It was very difficult to sit still and watch Charles walk away, holding his shoes to silence his footsteps, in possible danger if he were caught. It was true that the manifest of the _Magneto_ listed no passengers or crew at present, yet the need to protect Charles had not abated; if anything, it had increased. Erik had had two years to examine his strong preference and regard for Charles; it made no more sense to him now than it ever had, but he had long since decided not to care.

When Charles was out of sight down the long aisle, Erik was left with nothing to look at but the hundreds of deactivated androids surrounding him. If the androids were reparable, they would be repaired, and all was well; if they were not, then it was only logical that their bodies be mined for whatever parts might still be useful, and the remainder destroyed. The logic was sound. Yet looking at the endless store of sightless eyes and slack faces gave him a peculiar feeling. Unsettled, that was the term. They were unsettling. Because they were a reminder of his own possibly imminent death? Because he was planning to sacrifice one of their number in his place? His ethical subroutines had little to say on that matter. Androids were allowed to harm others in self-defense, and if he did not do this he would die. Yet he somehow felt more ill-at-ease about it than he had about removing Dr. Shaw from the cryo-pod.

Erik closed his eyes, instead of dwelling on his surroundings, and pulled up the just-recorded memories of waking to Charles's face, kissing him and holding him. He had imagined his reunion with Charles many different ways, none of them very similar to the reality, as it turned out – yet in its basic components, the event could not have been any better. Charles was awake and well, and his feelings for Erik were unchanged. Erik had been prepared to face death with serenity, so long as he could be relatively sure that Charles was safe ( _"—Dr. Xavier's revival failed and he was declared dead—"_ Erik cut off the replay of that extremely unpleasant memory). But how much better was this, to have the hope – not the certainty, by any means, but the hope – that he might leave this warehouse after all, and spend many years in Charles's company?

It was certain, of course, that he would never again serve aboard the _Magneto_ , which had been his only home since the day his Programming Reinforcement and Supplementation training had been completed, 12.4 years ago. With all the strange and unprogrammed emotional responses he had experienced in the last two and a half years, he almost expected to feel an illogical regret for the loss of that home. To his relief, he did not. The ship had been no company during his long solitude, it was only bulkheads and readout screens. He would rather be with Charles.

It was rare for a Ship's Assistant to be surrounded by waking crew for so long at a time as he had on this mission, but the journey to the research site had been only seven months. Cryo-pods being expensive to operate, and carrying always some risk of revival failure, they were generally used only for voyages of a year or more; for Dr. Shaw's research mission, there were only a few brought along as an emergency precaution. For the first time since completing his training, Erik had been forced to interact with human beings for more than a few weeks at a time.

He found them irritating.

More specifically, they interfered with his duties and made unnecessary demands on his time. In some ways Charles was the worst of them; he was constantly at Erik's elbow, pulling him into conversation, and he frequently requested that Erik socialize with him when they were both off-duty (invitations his etiquette subroutines near-compelled him to accept, for the purposes of crew morale). In addition, Charles had a habit of absently touching things, picking them up and setting them down somewhere else, while he followed Erik about, that had caused Erik problems more than once. Yet the conversations he had with Charles provided more mental stimulation than Erik had received in many years, and the man seemed to _like_ Erik, for reasons Erik could not comprehend. Erik assumed, at the time, that it was some part of his Approachability programming that made it so difficult not to respond in kind when he was so warmly addressed.

In addition, allowing Charles to befriend him seemed to improve his relationships with the rest of the crew. Those who were put off by Erik's artificial nature interacted with Charles, instead, when there was need to communicate with the Ship's Assistant, and all parties were happier thereby. And those whose discomfort with androids was instead expressed as aggression and malice found that Charles acted swiftly and energetically in Erik's defense. Erik was forced to quickly conclude that, overall, Charles was more a help than a hindrance in the efficient performance of his duties.

In retrospect it was obvious that his attachment to Charles, developing so gradually as to evade notice, had nevertheless quickly outstripped anything explainable by Approachability programming. Only twelve weeks into the mission, Erik had displayed what he now considered the first undeniable sign of irrational inclination.

He had been retrieving a crate of ready-food packets from the cargo bay, and lost his balance when Dr. Shaw bumped against the ladder. The fall had damaged his epidermis in several places, dislocated his right shoulder joint, and caused temporary concussive damage to his cerebral unit. With the concussive damage he'd been unable to process his surroundings clearly or turn off his pain receptors, and several logic circuits had blown completely. Suspecting Dr. Shaw of damaging him intentionally, Erik had blockaded himself behind a large crate with a makeshift weapon, and refused to communicate with anyone except to ask, very politely, for the only crewmember he trusted not to take advantage of his compromised state – Charles.

Charles had come at once, ejected Dr. Shaw from the cargo bay, and spoke to Erik softly through the barricade, assuring him that no further harm would come to him. Only after he promised to stay by Erik's side was Erik able to calm himself and emerge from his hiding place.

Erik could only assume the record of that incident was among those lost in the attack on their ship, or the assessor would have had even less to say before slating Erik for cerebral replacement.

Erik's record of it, of course, was completely intact. He had replayed it many, many times during the two year journey – not the unpleasant part, when he was alone and vulnerable, but afterward, when Charles had helped him seal the cuts in his skin, and get his shoulder joint back into place. Charles had _fussed over_ him, he believed that was the phrase; behavior of a caretaking nature, evincing great, even excessive concern and empathy. At the time Erik had not been certain how to respond. It confused him that, once his self-repair processes eliminated the effects of the concussion, which they quickly did, Charles was much more distressed about the incident than Erik was himself. It seemed very strange that a human would be so concerned about him. Yet it was not unpleasant to know that Charles cared so very much, even if it was inexplicable.

In retrospect, that was one of the many occasions wherein Erik should have realized Charles was experiencing a physical attraction to him, but he had attributed the unnecessary touching and eye contact to Charles's _fussing._

For the first time, now, Erik asked himself if he was attracted to Charles. It seemed incredible that he had never wondered this before, but the answer had seemed thoughtlessly obvious; androids were not programmed to experience attraction. Even Pleasure models were designed only to simulate it very convincingly. But of course, due (he assumed) to his corrupted code, Erik's emotional responses had been growing increasingly nonstandard for some time now. It was worth examining himself for signs of sexual attraction.

For humans, attraction seemed to frequently be an all-consuming emotion, and that had clearly not occurred. But Erik did take joy in looking upon Charles, in touching him and kissing him. The thought of taking further sexual action with Charles was not at all abhorrent. If Charles did not wish to do so, would Erik be disappointed? Humans were usually devastated if they discovered their desires to be unreciprocated. Erik did not think that would be his reaction. If Charles did not want that from him, Erik would be happy to merely give him whatever he _did_ want instead. As an android Erik had no reproductive drive; it would do him no physical or psychological harm to remain celibate all his days. But Charles _did_ have such a drive, and Erik found that he would much rather Charles exercised that drive with him than with anyone else. Other humans might be more experienced and passionate partners, but Erik ventured to say that he would value Charles's happiness more highly than any of them. Charles's happiness and safety were of great importance to him.

In fact, they were of _paramount_ importance, so much so that Erik could not think of any price that would be too high to pay for them. But that, he realized with a peculiar shiver through his body, was not attraction. That was what humans called _love._

Erik was still attempting to fully comprehend that realization – he was fairly certain it had damaged at least one of his logic circuits – when Charles returned.

"Right, I think I managed it," Charles whispered, harried and breathless, kneeling down at Erik's side. "Whoever runs this place has very unimaginative taste in passwords. I'm very pleased to report that no one will be dying in your place, Erik. I found a Ship's Assistant that was in some sort of electrical accident – his brain was completely fried, there's nothing they can do. _He's_ the one who'll be getting a cerebral replacement and sent back to the _Magneto._ That was MX3 something. Then instead of doing a straight swap between you and MX3, I found another one, SA6, that was damaged during training and not assigned to a ship yet. He's already repaired and awaiting assignment." He smiled, lacing their fingers together. "It took some fancy footwork and I may have broken my brain, but the end result is this: MX3 is going to the _Magneto_ , SA6 is going to MX3's old ship, and you are listed as already repaired and being shipped to my stepsister's house tomorrow. Bit odd for a Ship's Assistant model, of course, so the record formerly belonging to SA6 and now belonging to you is now the record of a customized Pleasure model. Congratulations on the promotion. Such _very_ unimaginative passwords. But hopefully the whole thing is tangled enough that no one will be able to unravel it even if they catch on."

Erik realized he was smiling very widely. "That is a very good plan, Charles."

For a moment they just smiled at each other, grips tight on each other's hands. Then a sound caught Erik's ear – footsteps on the concrete floor, heading their way.

"The security guard," Erik said. "You should hide."

Charles bit his lip, glancing around – but there was nowhere to hide, and no time for him to make it to the exit before he was seen.

So he backed up into the nearest layer of stored androids, propped himself stiffly against the wall, and let his face go slack, eyes blank.

Erik, thinking it best to look exactly as he had before Charles came, closed his eyes and stopped breathing.

The guard came to a stop in front of him, and Erik heard him press a few buttons on his scanner. He made a disgusted noise and raised his wrist-com to his mouth. "Found it, Jake. No harm done, looks like it's in sleep mode. Betcha that idiot Carlos was fooling around again, or let in some bloody tourist."

"I wonder if he was fooling around with my computer, too," came a sour voice in reply. "I could have sworn I left it locked down."

The guard grunted, leaned down and pressed the deactivation button at the base of Erik's skull. Immediately he felt his body losing power, his cerebral unit shutting down; the draining sensation was unpleasant enough that he winced reflexively, eyes flying open.

The guard cursed in surprise and staggered back, bumping into the androids on the opposite wall.

One of which yelped in pain.

Erik could do nothing to intervene as the guard began shouting, pulling a pistol from the holster at his hip and aiming it at Charles. There was no power to Erik's limbs, he couldn't draw the guard's attention, couldn't put himself between Charles and the weapon – and his sensors were shutting down as well. He lost sound, then sight – but he could feel a vibration, a sudden blast of air against his skin, as the gun went off.

In the moment between the loss of all sensory input and complete loss of power to his cerebral unit, that sliver of timeless calm that always preceded deactivation, Erik reflected that it was something like putting Charles into the cryo-pod – except this time it was Erik himself who would have to wait in the dreamless dark to see if they had survived to make it home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has FANART! Really gorgeous amazing fanart, guys, I could CRY. You can see it on [DeviantArt](http://my.deviantart.com/art/XMFC-Programming-356523654) or [Tumblr](http://garnetquyen.tumblr.com/post/44052814365/cherish-cherik-ive-wanted-to-draw-this-scene). Here it is reblogged on _my_ [Tumblr](http://turtletotem.tumblr.com/post/44144119178/cherish-cherik-ive-wanted-to-draw-this-scene) where I could comment on it. BEHOLD ITS BEAUTY.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for handwavey neuroscience, LALALALA, SCIENCE IS MAGIC.

“I really, really ought to punch you in the face,” Raven said when Charles finally woke up after the sixteen-hour surgery.

“Mmwha?” Charles said.

“First you disappear into space for three years – did you know you were almost declared dead? Then boom, you’re alive and you’ve been a Charles-sicle all this time and you won’t come _home!_ And the next thing I know you’re in the hospital with a _gunshot wound_ and I’m just supposed to – to fly across the country at the drop of a hat and s-sit in waiting rooms for hours on end—” Her voice folded under the pressure of suppressed tears.

“Sorry, Raven, so sorry,” Charles murmured, mushy-voiced, and squeezed her hand.

“You’d better be.”

"I have to… tell you, Raven, I have to tell you... I met someone. On the ship, during the mission." He smiled, sleepy and child-like.

"Oh, Charles," Raven breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? Why?" Charles frowned.

Raven opened and closed her mouth a couple times, bewildered. "Well... I mean... Sorry that they... died? You know. You being the only survivor and all. I mean, that's... what the news reports and the doctors and the CyTerra lawyers all said..."

Charles closed his eyes, face screwing up with distress. "Oh, my poor love. Everyone forgets about you. You just don't even count to them at all."

He was asleep again before she could respond.

 

“Have some ice chips,” she said when he woke again. “And don’t you dare go back to sleep.”

He took the ice chips eagerly, and his eyes grew slowly sharp again. She’d almost forgotten how bright his eyes were. She bit down on the urge to bury her head in his chest and wail, _I thought you were dead!_

After a moment’s lip-biting thought, she decided not to bring up the special “someone” he’d mentioned before. “What were you even doing in an android warehouse, Charles?” she demanded instead. “Do you realize how it’s going to look on your records? Like you’re a thief, that’s what, or else one of those weirdos who pervs on androids!”

Charles began to laugh – and laugh, and laugh, and laugh, until tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Raven was already thoroughly alarmed when suddenly he stopped laughing, cut off mid-breath, and his face lost what little color it had contained.

“Raven,” he said, “why can’t I feel my legs?”

***

Erik’s skin sensors came online first; he could feel the nubbly softness of packing pellets all over him, like when he’d first been activated at the Programming Reinforcement and Supplementation Center. Part of his upper body had been uncovered, and he felt the warm pressure of a human hand against his cheek.

Auditory sensors kicked in only a moment later, and he heard a woman’s voice.

“—how you lavished attention on your pet rock, stroked it and talked to it and carried it around in a silk handkerchief? And it _never once_ loved you back? Tell me I don’t have reason to be concerned.”

“He’s not a rock, Raven.”

Charles. That was Charles’s voice. That was _Charles!_

“No, he’s not a rock, he’s just a doll! A kitchen appliance programmed to make polite responses!”

Finally, sight – light and shapes and a familiar face leaning over him – and Erik sat up, spilling pellets in every direction.

“Charles.” They had their arms around each other before Erik could process which of them moved first. _“Charles.”_

"Erik! It's all right, I'm here, I'm here. Oh, Erik!"

Liquid was spilling down Erik’s cheeks – overflow from the fluid lubricant that gave his eyes ease of movement. That shouldn’t be happening unless there was foreign matter in his eye. Was there something wrong with his pain and damage sensors?

Blinking rapidly, he caught sight of a young woman with long blonde hair, standing with her mouth open. The etiquette subroutines suggested feebly that he greet her, but that would mean disengaging from Charles. Instead of greeting her, he buried his face in the crook of Charles’s neck and held him tighter.

“How do you feel, Erik? Are you all right? Nothing damaged in shipping?” Charles gave a crooked smile, pulling back to brush packing pellets from Erik’s chest.

“All my systems are reporting correctly. I’m so glad you’re well, Charles. I felt the gun go off…” He was on a table, he realized, the lid and wrappings of his shipping box cast off to the side, and Charles was sitting beside it, which explained the awkward angle of their embrace. It would have been more comfortable for Charles to stand. Why did he remain in his chair?

In his… wheelchair.

There was definitely something wrong with his pain and damage sensors, because Erik felt suddenly as if he’d been gutted, some sharp instrument tearing him apart from the inside out.

“It’s all right, Erik,” Charles said quickly, reaching up to touch his face again.

“You’re hurt.” He had difficulty saying the words at first – and then more streamed after, unstoppable. “Loss of mobility is a serious quality-of-life issue that can lead to health complications and sexual dysfunction as well as frequently triggering depression and—”

“Erik.” Charles put his fingertips against Erik’s lips, a sensation that for a moment nearly distracted him from what Charles was saying. “I’m fine. Look.” He reached for the wheelchair’s controls, steered it backward with an electric buzzing sound until Erik could see his feet – and moved them, wiggling his toes energetically inside their ladybug-printed socks. “The wheelchair’s temporary, my friend. I can’t stand for very long, but it’s getting better every day as the new cyborg spinal cord bonds with my nervous system.”

“Cyborg. Of course.” The pain in his middle began to fade. “We are not in space anymore. Of course you would have advanced medical care.”

“On CyTerra’s dime, to boot, seeing as it was their security guard who shot me. They even dropped the trespassing charge in exchange for my keeping mum about the whole thing. Come on, come on, let’s get you out of this box.”

After some struggling, with pellets spilling everywhere, Erik found himself on his feet on the cool hardwood floor of – he assumed it was Charles’s dining room?

“Well, he’s a well-built fellow, anyway,” said the blonde woman, looking him up and down. Noting that he was wearing only thin grey pants, Erik watched the woman uneasily for signs of physical attraction, but saw only a sort of wary approval.

"Erik," Charles said, "this is Raven, my only family and my best and oldest friend. Raven... this is Erik."

"I assume you are Charles's stepsister Raven Darkholme, listed in his employee record as his next of kin," Erik said, extending a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

“Still think he’s a pet rock, Raven?” Charles murmured.

“Not hardly. I wouldn’t have picked him for it, of all the androids in the world.” She cocked her head. “He’s not the Uncanny Valley disaster of the Soldier model I saw that once, but he’s not nearly as smooth as the Pleasure models either. As human-seeming, I mean. Except for his eyes...” She looked at him carefully for a long moment, then finally took the proffered hand. “Welcome to the family, Erik.”

***

Charles, jittering with excitement, gave Erik an extensive tour of his stepsister's condo, down to the cupboards and drawers. He chattered ceaselessly, and continually reached to touch Erik's hand, or arm, or cheek, as if to reassure himself of Erik's solidity. Once, Erik thought, he would have found the unnecessary contact irritating, but now he looked forward to each touch, leaning in to meet it.

The condo had three bedrooms, but one of them contained a table and desk instead of a bed, both covered in the disorganized debris of Raven's costume-design hobby. Erik did not need a bed to sleep in, of course; for the most part, he did not even need sleep, unless he was damaged. So he did not make any inquiry as to whether he would be granted his own space to stay in. Perhaps... perhaps he would be staying with Charles.

"I'm still figuring out what I can afford," Charles said, leading him out onto the balcony, and shutting the glass doors behind them. He rose from his wheelchair, stiff and clumsy, to lean against the rail. Erik kept a light hand on his back; the balcony seemed perfectly sturdy, and the rail too high to easily fall over, but there was no reason to take unnecessary risks. "My finances are in considerable disarray, and I have no clear career path at the moment. But since I'm never, ever, _ever_ going into space again, it looks like I can get my own place at last. I would love to be near Raven, but at the same time I've always wanted to live in Paris, and I always said I'd go back to Oxford someday... What do you think, Erik? Where would you like to live?"

"I have no preference," Erik said, gazing down with interest at the stream of cars and pedestrians below, the towers of steel and glass and electric light stretching out to the horizon. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of humans – and undoubtedly other androids – within his line of sight at this moment. It was an overwhelming thought. "Though I do appreciate being consulted. I do not think many android owners would do so."

"That's enough 'owner' nonsense, right there," Charles said, almost absently, peering down at the traffic with his shoulder pressing against Erik's, and his back still warm under Erik's hand. "I suppose trying to legally emancipate you would be too controversial a move, holds too high a risk of drawing attention to our... delicate paperwork situation. But rest assured, my friend, I consider you neither pet nor appliance, but your own person and, and..."

"And what?"

Charles turned around, putting his back to the balcony railing, and looked at him a moment, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "If you don't mind my asking, Erik, I'd love to know... exactly what you consider _me_. I won't pretend I can't see that you view me positively, but I'm not... entirely certain of the extent of your... I mean, do you _want_ to stay with me? Because if you don't, we could—"

"Yes," Erik said immediately. "Yes, I want to stay with you."

Charles smiled, but still looked uncertain, and Erik felt a tight, coiling frustration. He did not want Charles to be uncertain of him. He wanted to say whatever would bring Charles the most happiness, but wasn't sure what that would be. This was an entirely emotional equation, now, and Erik knew himself sorely underqualified to address any such thing. He suspected that, if he were human, this would be an appropriate time for a declaration of love. But how could he declare something he had only the faintest understanding of? Humans considered it unforgivable to declare love falsely. What if he made the declaration, only for Charles to decide later that Erik did not experience emotion in a way he considered "real"? He would believe Erik had lied to him. Perhaps he would even be right. How could Erik possibly judge whether his nonstandard feelings for Charles truly constituted love?

 _If androids can love, then I love you,_ he thought. _But that is, as they say, 'a big if.'_

"Let's go on in and have dinner," Charles said, and Erik tried not to interpret his expession as disappointed.

***

They watched a movie after dinner, the three of them squeezed together on the couch. It was very exciting for Erik to see an unfamiliar film, and he was almost sad when it ended, though he knew the script and production values had been mediocre. The best part of the movie had been when the main character and her beloved sang about how much they loved each other, and Charles had taken Erik's hand.

"Help me get ready for bed, please, Erik," Charles said when the movie was over, and because he fastidiously ignored Raven's raised eyebrow, Erik chose not to acknowledge it either.

"I have a list," he told Charles as he helped him remove his shoes and socks, "of all the things I wanted to ask or tell you while you were in the cryo-pod. It's very long, and many of the items on it seem unimportant now, but I would like to begin sharing selections from it over time, if you do not object."

"Of course I don't object." Charles looked surprised but happy. "Tell me one now."

He ended up sharing several, as Charles changed into his pajamas, took his medication and brushed his teeth. Thoughts about the design of the ship's controls, about the ancestry of _Chelonoidis nigra_ , about a conclusion in one of Charles's published papers – each one provoked a level of amusement or interest similar to what Erik had anticipated, and he felt very satisfied with himself for choosing so well. Perhaps he was not an utter failure at emotional comprehension.

Charles tried to walk from the bathroom to his bed, but he had already been standing for several minutes, and his legs buckled within a few steps. Fortunately, Erik had foreseen that occurrence, and caught him easily, scooping him up against his chest.

"Oh," Charles said faintly. "Thank you." He had not put on a shirt with his pajamas, only a pair of loose trousers, so it was very easy to perceive the flush under his fair skin as it made its way down his chest. As Erik had never been given a shirt after leaving the packing box, he could feel the flush as well, a spreading warmth against his skin.

"You're welcome," Erik said, and carried Charles across the room to set him down on the bed. He remembered running, carrying Charles to the cryo-pod, not even realizing at the time that his haste damaged a joint in his arm. This was so much better. They were both safe, and warm, and awake, and – not unhurt, but not, at least, in danger. "Tell me about your spine," Erik said, sitting down beside him. "How long will it take to bond completely with your nervous system? Does it cause you pain? Where was it manufactured? I would like to know everything, please." He did not entirely realize he was running his hand slowly up and down the area in question until Charles rolled onto his stomach to give him easier access, making a pleased-sounding noise.

"Keep doing that," he said. "Physical contact helps the nerves align. The doctors say it'll take months for full function to return, years even for the last few stragglers. It's a bell curve. Are you familiar with the Barnes-Rogers theory of nerve function?"

Erik absorbed every crumb of information Charles could tell him about the artificial spinal cord, trying to fight an illogical conviction that the more he knew about it, the more likely it was to work. All the while he kept up his gentle massage of Charles's back, so that the conversation was interrupted by sighs and happy hums of approval.

"It needs constant chemical adjustments," Charles said, pillow-muffled and dreamy, "about once a week at this stage, so there's an access port in the lumbar region – you see it?"

Erik tugged the waistband of Charles's pajama trousers down a couple of inches, and there it was, pink skin wrinkled around a foreign gleam of metal. Erik stared.

"Erik?" Charles sounded puzzled, and Erik realized his massage had stopped mid-movement.

"This is a Thompson 3500-C maintenance port," he said. "I've worked with it before. I... I could access it."

Charles craned his neck, looking at Erik over his shoulder. "Well, that's... intriguing. What would happen if you accessed it?"

"We could share data."

"What sort of data?"

"Nerve and brain chemical information, I believe, under the circumstances."

"Could that be... dangerous in some way?"

Erik considered this carefully. He felt a surprisingly strong desire to access the port, to connect to Charles in a way no human could. Nevertheless, anything that might harm Charles was out of the question.

"I could use it to harm you if I chose," he said after a careful review of all he knew or could surmise about the Thompson 3500-C maintenance port. "But it would take deliberate effort, which is of course against my programming."

Charles snorted. "I don't think we can make any blanket statements about your programming at this point, my friend." He reached backward and trailed a hand across Erik's cheek. "But I trust you. Do it if you like."

Charles trusted him. He knew Erik's programming was faulty, that it was possible that Erik could hurt him, and still trusted him.

Erik leaned into the warm skin of Charles's back, pressed a kiss there, then opened the interface tool in the palm of his left hand, and accessed the port.  
He had expected a data stream, information. What he got instead was a flood of emotion, intense almost beyond coherence. He floundered in it, drowning, unable to think.

"Erik?"

Charles's voice brought him back to awareness, and Erik realized he was on his knees beside Charles's bed, body shaking, hand still tightly pressed to Charles's back.

"Erik, please talk to me," Charles said, and fear, cold sickening fear was spreading through the link between them.

"How can you do it?" Erik's voice was thin and breathless, his throat and chest muscles not functioning properly. "Do you really navigate this level of emotion all the time?"

"I suppose so," Charles said. "Erik, perhaps you should disconnect."

Disconnect – yes, there was an idea. With a twist of his hand, Erik pulled off of the maintenance port, and the data stream stopped. The cessation was jarring, and Erik couldn't say whether it was entirely welcome or not.

"Serotonin," he murmured. "Dopamine. Epinephrine. Endorphin. Oxytocin. Oxytocin?"

"Erik, why are you listing neurotransmitters?"

"I suppose it makes sense that to an android brain, receiving the digitalized profile of a chemical is virtually the same as receiving the chemical itself."

Charles's eyes widened. "Oh."

So that, Erik thought, was what it was like to be human. To live in a constantly shifting sea of overwhelming emotion. It was a wonder humans ever managed logical thought at all.

He felt his body sink down to rest on the floor, his back against Charles's bed. He felt drained and off-balance and... hopeless. What he felt for Charles could not possibly be considered significant to a human. He had never in all his life felt something as overwhelmingly intense as Charles's emotions on an unremarkable evening in his own bedroom. He could never in good conscience tell Charles he loved him.

"Do you have neurotransmitters?" Charles was asking, and Erik, with difficulty, bestirred himself to answer.

"Artificial ones, yes. Any functional brain requires them. They are not nearly as... effective as yours." Erik drew his knees up to his chest.

"Well, obviously they do _something._ I could feel that clearly enough."

"What?" Erik unfolded a little from the ball of despair he had formed, enough to look over his shoulder at Charles. "What do you mean?"

 _"Sharing_ data, remember? I definitely got something back from you."

"...what did it feel like?"

Charles sat up, his feet swinging down by Erik's shoulders, and combed his fingers through Erik's hair. "It felt... happy, at first, curious and eager. And then overwhelmed, frightened."

"Then... then I do have emotions? Real emotions? What you would consider real?"

"Of course." Charles frowned, his brows wrinkling fascinatingly. "Have you been worried about that? Erik, almost anyone will admit that androids experience _some_ form of emotion, pain response if nothing else. But your actions have shown an emotional range, acuity and complexity that is completely without precedent. For heaven's sake, the fact that you're even able to worry about it should tell you that. Your emotions seem to be... quieter, certainly, than mine. Simpler – _direct_ might be more accurate, very forthright, less of a tangle of contradictions. But certainly real."

The room was no brighter than it had been, and the world no larger. That was just another nonstandard emotional response. Erik smiled anyway. "I would... I would like to try again, if you don't mind? With the intake level adjusted, so that I am not overwhelmed."

Charles looked uneasy.

Erik said, "I would like to show you how I feel about you."

Charles smiled softly. "All right. If you're sure."

They lay down together, face to face, close enough for Erik to feel Charles's body heat, and he trailed his left hand down Charles's back to the maintenance port.

He thinned the intake parameters to a mere thread, this time, and the chaotic jumble of Charles's emotions washed over him as a gently lapping wave rather than a crushing flood. He focused on sending his own emotions through the link – his desire for Charles's company above that of all others, his wonder and admiration of Charles's intelligence and honor and kindness, his appreciation of Charles's beauty, and above all else, his complete joy that Charles was well and safe, and his determination to keep him that way, whatever the price to himself.

"Oh," Charles breathed. "Oh, Erik."

"I love you," Erik said.

"Yes, you do," Charles said, his eyes shining wet. The link between them swelled with something sweet and bright and warm, and Charles wrapped himself around Erik and kissed him.

The first time they kissed, Erik had tried to make the kiss _seem_ passionate and sincere, for Charles's sake, using what little knowledge he had of such things. Since then he had made a study of physical affection, calculating what motions and angles and rates of movement seemed to communicate which emotions – happiness, tenderness, anger, distress, casual comfort. Right now he very much wanted to convey happiness and depth of attachment, and he was surprised when the memorized tricks he deployed did not feel, this time, like tricks. They _satisfied_ , in a way he did not know how to articulate, as if his emotions had been in a tightly pressurized container and were now being safely released.

Expressed, he realized. He was _expressing_ his emotions. Like humans did. He had had to put a great deal more thought into it than humans seemed to, but the effect was more or less the same. It was a good feeling. He liked it. And he liked kissing Charles.

Kissing quickly expanded into other touches, which Erik also liked very much, but the longer it went on, the more overwhelming the data from the link became, until Erik finally had to disconnect.

"I'm sorry," Charles gasped, "I'm sorry, that was too much, I didn't mean to—"

"It's all right," Erik said. "I'll get used to it. Maybe one day we can remain connected throughout the entire experience. That is... you do intend for us to have sex?"

Charles laughed into Erik's shoulder. "I suppose at this point I'd be a terrible tease if I didn't. But only if you want to, my friend. My love." He stroked Erik's face. "I didn't actually say it back yet, did I? I love you. Horribly, embarrassingly, overpoweringly. I love you."

Erik smiled, a shiver passing through his body, and murmured, "That goes into permanent memory storage."

"That reminds me – you said something, before, about corrupted code..."

"Yes. There are anomalies in my programming. There were just a few, at first, but they seem to be spreading."

Charles's eyes widened. "Is that... all right? Are you..."

"I'm fine. At first I thought they were affecting my emotions but now I believe it is the other way around, or perhaps the two are building on each other." Between words, Erik nibbled his way down Charles's neck, biting at exactly the level of pressure that had caused the data stream to surge so overwhelmingly. He was curious to see if it would have the same effect twice.

It did, judging by the breathless little noise Charles made. His voice was unsteady. "But you'll – you'll tell me if it – if something goes wrong or needs fixing or—"

"Yes. But I don't believe I need fixing."

Charles tried to say something else, only to lose coherence when Erik's hand slid up the inside of his thigh.

"I think perhaps we must choose either conversation or sexual activity, for the moment, rather than attempt both simultaneously," Erik said, somewhat concerned by Charles's accelerated breathing and the high flush on his cheeks. "Charles, your health may still be fragile. Do you think you're ready for this?"

"I believe that's supposed to be _my_ line."

"If you're worried about my consent, I assure you I have done a great deal of research and am able to make an informed decision."

Charles laughed and hugged him tightly. "I have no idea if either of us are ready for this at all."

Erik pulled him into another kiss. "Let's find out."


End file.
